


why'd you help me?

by skduar



Series: you didn't do anything wrong [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Depressed Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Poor Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Rape/Non-con Elements, Scared Connor (Detroit: Become Human), chris is only there for a few lines, chris miller is a good bro, gavin reed is a good bro, gavin reeds cat is only mentioned, get some comfort for that hurt for the first time in history, hank is bad in this but he doesn't know that, im serious i've never written comfort before, more comfort next book tho, other precinct officers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:07:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29685813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skduar/pseuds/skduar
Summary: Connor is in two worlds, the past and the present.A good thing there's someone there to help him.
Relationships: Connor & Chris Miller (Detroit: Become Human), Connor & Gavin Reed, Hank Anderson & Connor
Series: you didn't do anything wrong [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2181477
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	why'd you help me?

**Author's Note:**

> Non-Con, Panic Attacks.
> 
> If this trigger you, please don't read.

Connor is nauseous. The Lieutenant is so close, sitting across from him at his terminal. They aren’t touching, but they’re close enough that he can feel his presence. He’s pretty sure even if they were 1,000 miles apart he’d still feel the warmth of the Lieutenant on his chest.

He takes in a deep breath through his nose, rubs his shaking fingers around the engravings in his coin, and lets his breath out again.

The Lieutenant is staring at paperwork on his desk, an irritated frown on his face. There lay an empty cup of coffee on his desk, tilted on its side and a drop of coffee under it lay on the gray surface. The Lieutenant lets out an annoyed huff, and slams down the pen on his desk.

Connor jumps, startled. Hank meets him with an inquiring stare, and all Connor can see is the blue eyes towering over his, hazy and distant with buzzing whiskey in his system.

“Connor? You okay?” And just like that, he’s back in the present. Connor feels his heart stutter in a painful way at the sound of the Lieutenant's voice, and with shaking limbs he stands up.

“Just fine, Lieutenant. I’ll go get you another coffee.” He turns away from the desk and walks towards the break room, and he ignores the burning feeling that tears his back as the Lieutenant stares after him.

He walks into the break room, and he takes in another deep breath. He hunches his shoulders as he walks to the coffee maker, and he stares at the hot coffee that still sits in the coffee maker.

His stomach feels knotted, and anxiety filters through his biocomponents. He reaches for the coffee maker and grabs a cup. He can’t get rid of the feeling of being exposed, of being used.

He hears footsteps behind him, but he isn’t ready to interact with anyone at the moment, so he pretends as if he hadn’t heard them.

“Hey, plastic!” The taunting voice reaches his ears, and he feels his stomach drop. He ignores him, and with shaking hands begins to pour the hot coffee.

Footsteps begin approaching, and his breathing begins to pick up. Please don’t come near me, please don’t look at me. But begging is useless, and Detective Reed is already next to his ear. “Hey, I’m talking to you!” And he grips his arm and begins to twist Connor to face him, but Connor’s shaking hands spill some coffee on his hands. Searing pain flitters across the side of his hand, and Connor remembers.

_The blue blood trickled across his fingers since his nails were too sharp, the feeling of sweat all over his body. He keeps begging and begging, but a hand is placed on his mouth._

_“Shut up,” he grunts. He ruthlessly continues, ignoring every whimper and cry that betrays him and falls through his lips that he’s biting to the point they bleed. The hand holding onto his wrists shifts down to his arm, and he wants to push the Lieutenant off of him but he’s too scared._

_He doesn’t know why this is happening, and he can’t predict the outcome. He’s absolutely terrified._

Connor feels hands on his shoulders, and he feels the handles of the cabinets on his back. The carpeted rug is rough on his clothed legs, and he can’t breathe.

“Shit, Connor,” he hears someone speaking. But he doesn’t know who, all he sees are pale blue eyes dissecting his body, he feels the hands trailing across his sides. He feels the thrusting, and he feels his body shaking.

“Please,” he gasps. He doesn’t know what he’s begging for. He just wants this to stop, he’s so confused. He feels like he’s dying, his chest is burning.

“Connor, I need you to breathe.” Someone is directing. But don’t they know he’s _trying?_ With every inhale his chest burns into flames, and it feels like he’s choking on the ashes.

His hands scramble to grip onto something, and he kicks out his legs in an attempt to get away. He doesn’t want to be touched anymore, he doesn’t want to be stared at. He isn’t a prize, why won’t he stop _staring at him like that?_

His limbs feel jittery and hyper but as if they were submerged in cement. He feels confined, like he’s trapped under something. He feels the Lieutenant’s sweaty hands, and he feels his hot breath on his neck.

“I don’t want it…Please stop…”

_His tongue licks his collar bone, and he jolts. A shiver runs down his spine._

_“Fuck,” The Lieutenant grunts. Connor’s feels puke forming in the back of his throat, and he wants to gag._

_“You feel so good, Connor…” He mumbles, and his sweaty hair touches the side of Connor’s neck. The Lieutenants words twist his aching stomach, and he tastes bile on his tongue._

_He’s tired of this. He doesn’t want it._

“Connor, I need you to follow my breathing.” Connor feels someone grip his hand, and through the smell of sweat Connor feels their slow and exaggerated breaths,

Connor tries to replicate it, but his breath stutters and he chokes. Connor can’t see. He can hardly feel, he can’t think. Everything is fuzzy, but he can feel their breathing against his hand.

The breathing isn’t erratic in arousal like the Lieutenants, and the person who grips his hand isn’t sweaty.

But the cut on his hand burns, and he remembers that he isn’t the one in control. His mind is wild, his breathing is erratic, and his limbs are scrambling to release the jittering feeling that he can’t shake.

“No more hands....” He begs. He’s so tired of being touched, of being used. He doesn’t want to be a toy anymore. He wants to be free. Free of the chaos in his head, free of the wild beast running rampant and doing flips deep in his chest. He doesn’t want to be burdened anymore.

The hand lets go of his, and no one is touching him anymore. He clenches his fists into his shirt, and he grips it as if it’ll release the tension in it.

He isn’t being touched anymore, he’s not seeing blue eyes behind his eyelids whenever he blinks. His head is too fuzzy to think straight, but his chest doesn’t burn. He takes in a deep shuddering breath, and then opens the eyes he hadn’t realized he closed.

Chris is at his side, staring at him with concerned eyes. When he notices Connor looking at him, he gives him a small smile. “Are you okay?” He asks, and Connor’s lips feel heavy. He doesn’t feel like talking, he doesn’t feel like moving. His body feels sluggish, and his eyes feel sore.

He sees someone at his right, and when he slowly moves his head to look at them, his eyes come face to face with the green eyes of Detective Reed. There’s a hardness in his eyes, but as Connor stares silently they grow into something solemn. There’s a downturn to his lips, but it isn’t his usual snarl. His mouth shifts slightly, and he looks as if he wants to say something, but he must think better of it because he releases a huff of air before turning his head away.

Chris gives Connor a gentle smile before looking at Gavin. His eyes take on an expression Connor is too muddled to identify, before giving a nod at Connor and leaving.

Connor is sat with his back to the cabinets on the floor, and Detective Reed stands leaned back on the cabinet to his right.

Connor moves his eyes to the floor before he notices Detective Reed shifting. He stands up fully now, and Detective Reed slowly lowers his hand to Connor. A silent invitation. Connor is dumbfounded, and slowly reaches his hand out to accept it.

Detective Reed pulls Connor up and rubs his shoes on the carpet anxiously. “You might wanna, uh, fix your…” He gestures with his hands awkwardly at his disgruntled appearance.

Connor tiredly adjusts his tie and haphazardly weaves his hair into place. Gavin gives a nod, before he turns around. “Stay here.”

Connor watches Gavin walk off, and Connor rubs his tired eyes with his fingers. He’s exhausted, and his eyes are sore. The lights seem brighter and his mind is foggy. His chest is numb, and his limbs feel weighed down.

Gavin comes back into the break room wearing a jacket and a small bag on his shoulders. “Come on.” He grumbles. Connor obliges, too foggy to question what’s going on, and follows Gavin to the door.

“Hey! What the fuck are you doing with Connor!” Pale blue eyes, sweaty hands- and Connor’s foggy mind comes alert.

He stares at the Lieutenants nose, unable to stare into his eyes. He feels a weight press up against his shoulders, and he bites his tongue. “I’m taking the plastic to see my cats.”

The Lieutenant lets out a sarcastic laugh, and walks forward. “Yes, because the anti-android enthusiast is gonna take my fuckin’ partner to his house to pet his damn cats?” There’s a snarl on his face, but Connor can’t help but focus on the wording.

_Fucking partner._

It fits the situation, and he feels a pang in his chest.

The Lieutenant walks towards Gavin, and in turn comes closer to Connor. Connor doesn’t want to be near him, please stay away. He doesn’t want to be by him anymore.

“Leave me the fuck alone, old man!” Gavin spits, and his lips pull up revealing his teeth. Connor watches as the Lieutenant goes to grab Gavins collar, and Connor feels something in his foggy mind make sense: He doesn’t want to go with the Lieutenant, and he doesn’t want the Lieutenant to hurt Gavin.

Connor feels his breath begin to shake, and he wants to stick up for Gavin but he can’t. There's a coil wrapping around his neck, preventing him from speaking but in turn stopping his air supply.

Connor doesn’t need to breathe, but if he doesn’t it feels unnatural. It makes him feel more inhuman than he normally does. He feels dirt under his nails, he feels poison ivy itching across his chassis. The Lieutenant seems to notice, because he let’s go of Gavin.

“Con? What’s wrong, what did this fucker do to you?” He questions. People are watching, the Lieutenant wouldn’t do anything. He’s in a precinct, with officers all around him. He wouldn’t dare touch him. But his breath stutters, and Gavin is walking in front of him, shielding him from those distant blue eyes.

“You stay the hell away from him.” Gavin says, and he quickly grabs Connor’s arm and steers him away. The Lieutenant is silent, and though he’s angry, he stares concerned at Connor’s back.

He’s led into the breeze of the night air, and the specific smell that you only get when it’s chilly and dark out fills his nose. Gavin unlocks his car with a beep and opens Connor's door for him. He walks in without a sound, and slowly buckles his seat belt. Gavin jumps in on the other side of the car and twists his key in the ignition.

Gavin switches gears, lowers Connor’s window slightly, and turns out of the parking lot. The breeze hits Connor’s lungs as he breathes deeply in, and he rests his head back on the headrest.

The drive is in companionable silence, the passing of trees and the whistling of the wind in his ears fill up the empty space. The pollution in the sky let up a bit, allowing Connor to glimpse at a few of the blinking stars. Connor takes in another deep breath and feels the cold air chill his lungs. His chest still feels heavy, but he feels numb again.

Everything is distant as they drive, the blinking of blinkers with every turn and the bright stop lights when they reach intersections. Gavin taps the wheel with his pointer finger and thumb as he waits for the light to turn green, and the moon peers down on them from the sky.

“Why’d you help me?” It sounds weak even to his own ears, and Gavin turns right. He shrugs his shoulders and continues staring ahead at the road. “I dunno, I guess you kind of… reminded me of myself.” 

Connor turns his head to face Gavin in curiosity, but he sees the distant look in Gavin’s eyes and he resists asking questions. He knows what it’s like to need quiet, and he knows when to not pry.

They fall back into silence, and Connor leans his head against the window and closes his eyes. The chill against his face makes him feel more present, as if he isn’t drifting away with the wind that flows through the window. His chest feels empty, and his body feels fuzzy. But he doesn’t feel weighed down at the moment.

As Gavin waits at a stop sign, Connor lets out a breath of air. He knows the serenity won’t last, he knows he’ll eventually feel like his insides are breaking in two. But as they begin to pass neighborhood houses, he thinks that he’ll eventually learn how to tear the hands that linger on his sides off from his skin.


End file.
